


Skyrim Shorts

by Stuart James (Stoob)



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 12:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2229948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stoob/pseuds/Stuart%20James
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shorts and passages from the world of Skyrim, stuff that I like but doesn't quite fit anywhere else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Frea kneels in the snow, barely feeling its bitter coldness. The Dragonborn makes haste to confront Miraak, the final word of power finally hers. Frea watches her sprint out of the Skaal village, eager to complete the task, then looks back to Storn's lifeless body.

She regrets ordering the Dragonborn away so hastily to kill Miraak, the anger of her murdered father so fresh and raw. The other Skaal have all made their platitudes but now are gone, hiding away in their homes. So alone now. Frea attempts to lift her father, but he is a large man, wearing many layers of fur. It feels disrespectful to her, but she grabs the hood of his coat and begins to heave him up the incline to their small house. Feeling weak from the death of her father, the bitter cold cutting into her fingers, Frea loses her grip and falls back. She sits a moment, the fierce frustrated look on her face crumbling as she weeps uncontrollably, moving to hold her father.

All her hopes dashed in an instant. Any childhood dreams of adventure, gone. Frea knows they were only dreams, her duty and path already laid out before her, but while Storn lived, she could still nurture those ideas but now, he is gone, and there is only her. She must take up the mantel of the village's spiritual leader, something she does not yet feel prepared for. Any doubts Frea has about that, she can no longer share with her mentor and father.


	2. Chapter 2

The fire crackles in the centre of the humble Nord Skyrim home, the bitter wind howling outside. A couple and two children, with an older relative, huddling around the warmth of the blaze.

“You warm enough, auntie?” the younger girl asks.

“Yea, I'm fine. I don't feel the cold so much.” the old woman responds, wrapped in a large fur.

The door flings open and an out of breath boy rushes in.

“Thalmor...” he gasps a few times, “...heading this way...”

“Damn elves. Why couldn't they just let Skyrim be after the war?” the father stands.

“Skyrim belongs to the Nords!” the elder shouts.

“Not now.” the father asserts, assuming her age caused the outburst.

“Hm.” she responds, then heads into the communal bedroom and begins struggling with a pack under her bed.

“What are you doing now?” the father asks. Seeing her struggle he directs his daughter, “Help your aunt with whatever she's doing, Idri.”

“Shall I get our swords, father?” his son asks eagerly.

“No! Not yet... the Thalmor could be just passing through. We might get away with offering a few provisions.”

“And help them on their way to their next execution?”

“This is my decision, son! I'll not throw my family's lives away so readily.”

“You do look funny, auntie.” the girl's giggling voice comes from the bedroom.

The father looks to his sister. She shoves her hand into a bucket of pitch and greases her hair back with a fierce look then two stripes across her face. She stands defiant in black armour, with a vicious looking sword and shield in her hands. Despite her age, she still has a wiry look of strength about her.

“I am Lydia! Daughter of Skyrim, servant to the court of Whiterun, housecarl to the Dovakhiin!”

“Lydia...?” he asks in disbelief.

“I thought I'd already fought this battle, but it seems I'm not done yet. I've sat here for long enough while the Thalmor occupy our land, executing the defiant and innocent alike. No more! Skyrim belongs to the Nords!”


	3. Chapter 3

“Everyone's flammable. Your ice does little to the undead.” a mage argues around the camp fire with his companion.

“What? I can slow them right down.” the other mage responds.

“Then what? Slow 'em some more?”

“My family has generations of ice magic users.” he protests.

“Surprised that there's any subsequent generations at all then...”

“What?”

“I'm just surprised that your great, great, grand-daddy thought, 'I know, I'll specialise in ice magic', and didn't get mashed by the first thing he came across.”

“Are you insulting the memory of my forefathers?!”

“No. I'm just saying that anyone who thinks ice magic is superior to fire is an idiot.”

“So you're saying my ancestors are idiots?”

“If the cap fits.”

“Take that back!”

“Or what? You'll slow me down a bit?”

“That's it! Prepare to die!”

The two mages rise and send warning shots at each other, flames and ice brightly licking up the mountainside.

“Wait!” the fire mage shouts, “Who's that coming now?”

“Strangers!” the ice mage says with a sudden manic look in his eyes, “Kill them instead! Then we can get on with this.”

“Good idea.”

The Dragonborn dispatches the two mages with ease using her sword.

“What was that all about?” Lydia asks.

“Talos only knows. I see it a lot. Stupid elemental mages.” the Dragonborn responds.


	4. Chapter 4

The Dragonborn approaches the word wall, the light from the ancient script pouring forth, seeking out its mistress. She feels the usual wooziness as she gets close, the demonic chanting intensifying. A whoosh of light from the wall engulfs her, the word becoming part of her being, as though it was always familiar somehow. Digesting what she has just taken, the Dragonborn takes a step back and the chanting quietens.

“Thank fuck for that!” Festus shouts.


	5. Chapter 5

The Dragonborn leaves the Falkreath Sanctuary, charged now by the Night Mother with continuing the deed of murdering the Emperor of Tamriel, leaving the disaster to Nazir and Babette.

“Oh, Astrid. You silly girl.” Babette laments as she kneels by the charred body.

“She knew what she was doing. She knew what the consequences could be.” Nazir says firmly.

“She thought she was doing right. By us at least.”

“I... I suppose you're right. But by Sithis, what a mess! If this doesn't finish off the Dark Brotherhood in Skyrim then-”

“Shush, Nazir. The Night Mother has treated us well so far, it's in her we must place our trust now. She won't abandon us.”

Nazir sighs and looks down to Astrid's corpse.

“What shall we do with...” he begins as he gesticulates to the remains.

“Leave her. There's little point in ceremony. We don't know how safe it is here now anyway. We should just grab our things and run.”

“Seems...”

“Disrespectful?”

“Well, yes!”

“It's a cadaver, Nazir. Astrid's with Sithis now.”

“I suppose...” he concedes.

They gather what they can, which is not much with Babette's slight frame and leave the sanctuary, though Nazir can't help a last guilty look back towards Astrid's body.

...

Astrid gasps. Then shivers. Then curls up in pain.

“Ahhh... oh Sithis... I can't...” her pain is overwhelming.

She manages to heave herself to a chair to lean against amidst gasps and winces, still clutching herself attempting to soothe and fight off the pain of the weeping sores and charred flesh.

“Not many get a second chance, my child.” a voice booms out of the ether.

“What...?” Astrid's constitution is hazy, unsure where this voice comes from. “Who...?”

“You don't recognise the voice of your father?”

“Sithis?” she says in disbelief.

Sithis rarely bothers with the mortal realm, allowing the Night Mother to conduct his work.

“And you see yourself as the next Daedra, the next Night Mother?”

“That wasn't my intention!”

“But that's how you viewed yourself, the leader of the Dark Brotherhood, abandoning the ways of the Night Mother. So I give you this gift.”

“What gift? Pain?!”

“Get used to it. It's never going to leave you.”

“Why are you doing this to me?!”

“You betrayed me, Astrid. Betrayed the Night Mother, the Listener, the Keeper. But I cannot dismiss one of my children so I give you this chance to prove yourself.”

“Prove myself how?”

“You're not entirely of the mortal realm now. Gather initiates, make mayhem in my name, be the mother to murderers that you want to be. Perhaps, if you prove worthy, true powers may be yours.”

“You want me to challenge the Night Mother? The Dark Brotherhood?”

“Delicious, isn't it?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Mercenary camp'

Alan pulls his cloak and robes tighter around himself against the cold wind, patrolling the camp's perimeter gantry. Why they want a necromancer on watch, he has no idea – there is little for a necromancer to do until there's available cadavers. The rest of the mercenaries that call this fortified camp home are on wind down, relaxing around camp fires with a mug of ale or already retired to their tent.

“You there!” a voice calls out of the darkness. Alan peers into the night to see a well armoured orc approaching.

“The Dawnguard is looking for recruits,” the orc continues, “to fight against the recent rise in vampire attacks.”

“Can't say I've noticed a rise in vampire attacks.” Alan replies.

“Then you're not paying attention.”

“What's the pay like?” Alan asks.

“Pay? This isn't about wealth and glory! This is-”

“Who is it, Alan?” a voice calls and Alan looks back into the camp.

“Some orc, Metella. Recruiting for the Mythic Dawn or something.”

“Dawnguard!” the orc shouts.

“What he said.”

“Can't say I've noticed a rise in vampire attacks.” Metella now joins Alan on the gantry, a dark haired woman in a tight fitting, black leather cat suit.

“That's what I said.”

“Then you're not paying attention!”

“Aaand that's what he said.”

“What's the pay like?” Metella shouts down.

“Gah! This isn't about wealth and glory!”

“He's really got his patter down, hasn't he?” Alan comments.

“Who is it, Alan?” a further voice calls.

“Is anyone in there interested in fighting against the recent rise in vampire attacks?” the orc now says impatiently.

“What did he say? Killing vampires?” the voice says and appears on the gantry, a tall thick set and bare chested Nord already pulling the battleaxe from his back. “Where do I sign up?”

“Ha!” the orc says. “Isran's going to like you!”

“What's the pay like?”


End file.
